


The State of Grace

by mormoriarty



Series: Fraying at the Edges [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blind Character, Dating, F/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mormoriarty/pseuds/mormoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Done for one of my friend's creative writing prompts:<br/>Your character is blind. The man she has started dating is not. He invites her to his apartment for the first time. While she is there, she notices various clues that tell her he is probably married. Write this story from the blind woman’s point of view. Remember that she cannot see, so you must not use any visual details. Focus on sounds, smells, touch, even taste. This is her first time in her new boyfriend’s apartment, so she is probably paying a lot of attention to what’s around her. Describe the apartment as vividly as possible without involving the sense of sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The State of Grace

The first time we met was in a café.

 

The Bean or some local one, I think. I haven’t been in a while, but the smell comes to mind as easily as if it were just yesterday. Strong, dark espresso intertwined with burnt caramel, and the heady scent of roasting coffee beans in the machines. Cool, crisp autumn air blowing in when the door opens, with the scent of decaying leaves that always signals winter is coming.

Someone opens the door for me that day, the bell clanging above my head to announce my arrival. The coffee shop is bustling, full of pushy people in the late afternoon, some clamoring for their cup of coffee or pastry while some stuck to their tables chatting amiably with friends.

Tapping around with my white cane, I find an empty table in the corner and wait patiently for either the line to die down or for a server to notice and come over. The latter happens first, a peppy young girl with a voice sweet as honey walking over to me. “What would you like, miss?” she chirps.

 

We meet there a couple of times, always planned, of course. Sometimes I have to remind you that I can’t see you and the hand motions you must be making. You catch on eventually.

But the fifth time we see each other, there’s something else. Something like nervousness creeps into your words. You’re either too slow or too quick to respond compared to usual, like you’re about to ask me something and you don’t even know how. What will it be?

“Would you like to continue this at my place?” you ask, taking my hand from where it lays on the table. Your skin is warm and soft, your fingertips lightly calloused. _From playing the guitar_ , you had said earlier. “Grace?”

Your question seems almost abrupt, coming right after we finish talking about your work, though I know it would have come up eventually. Or I had hoped, at least. It’s certainly appropriate given the number of times we have met. “Yes, of course,” I answer without thinking it through.

Without sight, I hardly even know you. I can revel in your voice, smooth like dark chocolate, and breathe in your smell, wood smoke and cologne. But I can’t read the telltale signs in facial expressions, body language, or hand gestures. You might be hiding secrets- you probably are, we don’t know each other that well yet. What if you were some mass murderer, just sitting across from me, and I was to become your next victim- in the privacy of your own flat?

I figure that if you were a mass murderer, you’d probably look the part and someone else would have been suspicious and noticed already. You’re as mysterious as can be, especially since I have no sense of sight, which is very mysterious to put it lightly. Your home is another piece of your life and you’re giving me free rein to come explore. I’m nervous but excited. “Come on, let’s go then.” Your voice seems to change as you probably smile down at me.

I wish I still had my sight; you seem beautiful and sadly, I can’t see any of it. After introducing yourself as Mason, you had described yourself the first time we met; curly brown hair, blue-grey eyes, tall. You sounded lovely, like you always do. I try to imagine your smile.

 

The bell rings over the door as you lead me out of the café, disrupting the path of my thoughts. You herd me into a cab, telling the driver the address. We arrive after a few minutes, and you carefully lead me up the stairs to your flat. We take off our shoes.

Even with your hand in mine, it is a whole new place and everything is always overwhelming in new places. Everything is heightened the first time. Your flat smells like cinnamon and spice and very strongly of you. Maybe it’s because you’re standing next to me, though. And something else is in the air too, but I don’t know what. Something flowery, maybe.

There are cars going by outside, their every noise ringing loudly in my ears. I step forward dizzily and nearly slip on the hardwood floor, but you catch me, your arms wrapping protectively around me. “Careful. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” I reach out my hand for something to grasp onto and pull myself up without your help, but I touch your neck by accident. My fingers brush against a thin metal chain, with a ring threaded through it. _A ring?_ I tell myself not to jump to conclusions, but my heart is racing and not just from the pumping adrenaline of the near fall. “Sorry,” I say- both apologizing for my clumsiness and for the accidental touch.

“It’s okay. Relax, Grace.” You take my hand again. “These floors are slippery. And I know new places are hard to take in for you.” You bring me over to sit down, on a couch, I suppose. “Maybe you should take off your socks?” I do, and my feet sink into a shaggy rug.

There’s a pillow next to my lap and I run my fingers over it. I can feel a pattern of raised bumps of embroidery over smooth silk. I make out the shape of a flower, trying to calm myself down. A flower seems awfully girly for a guy like you. Could someone else live here? Who, Mason? _Who could live here, Mason?_ _You’ve never mentioned a flat-mate..._ I shake the thoughts from my head, but they’re reluctant to leave. _Maybe they bought it as a present? Men don’t get pillows as presents, do they? Perhaps you just like fancy cushions?_

 

I take a deep breath, smoothing down the non-existent wrinkles in my jeans. The couch dips slightly as you sit down next to me, and I can feel your body heat radiating off of you. Questions pound through my thoughts as steadily as my heartbeat in my chest- _What are you not telling me? What are you hiding? Is there someone else?_

I can’t help but wonder, if there was someone else, another girlfriend, a spouse; why would you ever waste your time on me? I’m no longer able to see, I have trust issues, I’m insecure, I constantly need help especially in new places, I’m not that young and yet, I’m still inexperienced. Why spend all this time on someone who will never measure up?

I feel like crying. But I’m right- how could I ever measure up to a fully-sighted person?

But I’ve been quiet too long, and already you seem concerned. Oh, Mason. “Everything’s alright. You’re safe here, Grace,” you whisper, your voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

Oh. You take my anxiety for the fact that I’m in a new place. I’m over that already. After all, you’re here, Mason. You’ll protect me, I hope.

 

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, leaning in. I can feel your breath, humid on my cheek.

“Yes,” I breathe softly. I think I’m trembling, and I don’t know why. But then you close the distance between us easily, your lips coming to meet mine gently, parting them, tracing them with your tongue. Something electric and lovely courses through my veins and yet something is very wrong. _Who else do you do this to? Who else do you kiss like this? What am I to you?_

 _This isn’t right, this isn’t right. STOP_ , my brain screams. I push away from you abruptly, and I can hear you panting in confusion like, _what did I do?_

“I can’t do this, Mason.” My voice breaks somewhere on your name. “I know you’re hiding something from me.”

The silence that greets my ears is terribly painful as I wait for it to shatter around me.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rough work that I did in a short amount of time- if you've got input, I'd love critique! Thanks :)


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